Pirate Game Fan Fiction

A Survivor's Word (Part XIII) by D.S. Devereaux

XIII

Author's Note: In this particular time, there has been no need to care about the realms of Marleybone and Aquila. -DSD

“It's been a single day,” Destiny whispered, “Are we truly as weak?
Why must eower sails billow in roaring gale, whilst the cannons do fire in thickest fog? However eou, Corsair of Kensington, strike, into the unbeknownst lyft, for the frendscipe of Serafina?” Destiny had once been in the library of Monquista City – perhaps that was her one full day of peace and quiet. In fact, Destiny at that time had opted to return there when she grew too weak to plunder, to be able to read all day. That promise lasted until the Holy Monquisition set out to kill her. Even though it had been almost a year ago, Destiny still remembered traces of lines and passages. She had picked the lesson up from the particular line in “The Corsair of Kensington” right away, that foolish things are only done by fools. However, Destiny wondered how foolish the author was, to write in Old Marleybonian, of all languages.

“Tomorrow we find food and a source of water. We also go into the forest.”

“Yes, Captain!” Sarah said, unpacking a blanket. Destiny found a few wooden rods in the pile of lighthouse debris and balanced them on the ground to make foundation for a tent. She leaned more rods after palcing a long bar on the top, then draped a sheet over it. She had known a family in Flotsam, whose very small child would make similar tents in his bedspace. Destiny was sure that it would collapse tonight, and who was she – someone who would sleep in her ship every night?

“Probably.” Destiny said to herself, thinking of the Corsair line over and over. That foolish things were done by foolish people. Foolish people, foolish things. Fools, fools, fools.

Phule, Destiny thought. Coincidence?

Deacon had lost yet another. That girl – that Destiny who kept escaping, she and her crew – always had another trick to get people out. She was smart, but Deacon was smarter.

“It has come to my attention, the breaking of Devereaux's deal with Avery,” he started before his clockwork legion. “Now that we have gotten rid of Skull Island's wall around the pirate, we can at last close in on her. There will be no Avery to save her,” Deacon glared at one side of the group, “Boochbeard and Gandry are now...occupied...”

Deacon glared at the other. It was a new practice of his. If humans had such emotions as Deacon had heard and thought of, then he could easily make others listen though a very old human practice, body language. It felt rather clever.

“Last we saw her, we got into Jonah Town, nice and easy,” a marine spoke up, “We could do something on the side of that. There's a chance that she could have found friends, or family -”

“When did you arrive here?” Deacon growled. “Devereaux's family is long gone, once trapped in our very cells. We need her, the one with the daggers, the one with skill enough to escape. We need her dead!”

Deacon proceeded to yelling his last sentence. “Good idea, however.

Does anybody know where she's been lately?” Coughing was heard from the back of the room.

“Alright, alright!” The pelican kneeled again out of exhaustion. “She went to Flotsam. Flotsam.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Deacon whispered. “We go tonight.” Calling his legion forth, Deacon walked calmly out of the room. Ahab closed his eyes. He would never be accepted back home.

“What did she do, that one time? When she washed up on the shores, when old Giordano pushed her the last foot to the life fountain?

Think, Ahab.” The pelican felt his wings, felt for a large pinion feather. Wincing a little, he removed it.

“She used her poisoned water supply to harden a clump of hair to pick the lock!” He reminded himself, reached his feather around. He was surprised that Deacon didn't come back, it made so much noise.

“Huzzah!” The pelican whispered to himself. “I..I have to get back to Jonah Town, back to my son!” Holding his tattered hat to his chest, Ahab fled.

ONE MONTH LATER

Being at the top of Flotsam allowed plenty of light to filter in through the windows that One-Eyed Jack haphazardly wiped at. Rumor had it that the wharf rats were planning to pillage a ship allied with the Frogfather's Syndicate, and most of his customers were gone to fight.

He heard the clink of glasses and messy card shuffling in the cellar, but the upper level and his bar were completely empty. Jack pulled a chair out in front of one the only clean window panels, facing away from the sun. He tapped his paws on the table and was about to disappear into thought when he heard a whoosh in the entrance. Through the door shakily walked a figure wearing a beaten leather stetson and a jacket that hadn't been tied together. Under the jacket were Skull Island origin clothes that looked originally fitting but were now very baggy. The figure, as it walked towards Jack, reached up towards their head and pulled out what looked like a fishbone, letting loose long, thin, and dry hair free. The figure sat down on the other side of Jack, then slowly took off the stetson.

“No,” the barkeep whispered, “It can't be.” Underneath the stetson, Destiny's face had sunk in a little bit, her eyes were barely there, but tied on was her signature eyepatch, still kept clean. Her other eye was slightly clouded. Destiny had a few bruises on her chin and as Jack looked down, nasty scars on her hands that weren't attended to.

“We're dying, Jack. They're dying. You're part of the Syndicate, aren't you? Can't you help me get supplies from the Frogfather?”

Destiny whispered. Her voice was very beaten as well, probably from yelling orders. Jack sighed.

“If he finds out that it was for you, and since he's allied with Avery, well..” Destiny sighed and removed from her lap a drawstring bag. She placed it on the table, and her hands fiddled with the knot.

Her bony fingers weren't able to pry apart the knot, and she took something from her sleeve, a knife, to tear a slit in the opening, taking out a single article.

“How did you get Zafarite gems?” Jack whispered.

“The forests are very damaging, but they provide everything we need.

The undead folk are many once-wealthy pirates.” Destiny explained, taking out more gems. “How much is adequate for food and blankets?”

Jack stood up silently, and, slightly shocked by the state of Destiny, hurried behind the bar. He removed a few articles of his findings, then returned them to the table. Thick woolly blankets and a crate of long-lasting food.

“It's yours, you've saved the tavern, last year.” Destiny removed from her pocket a whistle.

“We're nearby. If Marcus and Karo show up, then you know what to do.”

Destiny put her stetson on again, and retrieved the food. She whispered a Mooshu-origin incantation, causing her to turn invisible.

She ran out of the tavern, or at least that's what Jack heard before there was nothing again.

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